


Boyle-Linetti Wedding Planners: We Plan Services with Clazz and Pizazz (Patent Pending)

by DinosaurTheology



Series: Johnny and Dora [9]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:43:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7280311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy assumes that planning her wedding will be as easy as managing a mass casualty incident. She could not have been more wrong. That's why it's good to have friends, though, even a group as screwed up as these.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The 99 and those working there aren't mine but I adore them. They make me happy. This will be a little longer, in a few parts that'll come out every week or so... just sweet, silly little bits of wedding planning fun.

Planning a wedding is hard work. There is catering to consider, renting a hall, picking out music, making sure Jake's parents don't kill each other... pretty much like planning the ESU response to a mass casualty incident coordinated with an FDNY HAZMAT unit and three hospital emergency departments. 

Amy considers this sort of thing her wheelhouse--it's a chapter in the sergeant's exam handbook, after all, sandwiched in between administrative action against a frequently nude lunch thief (super useful in the case of Hitchcock) and ape attack (which she, thank whatever gods may be, has not yet had to use in the field... although, she believes on further reflection, it may also be useful with Hitchcock if his blood sugar drops). Two weeks, a tub of fried apple pie ice cream with cinnamon chimichurri and a panic attack that ends with her a shaking, weeping wreck in her fiance's arms later (it was during Game of Thrones, too, and she'd been looking forward to the Battle of the Bastards for weeks) she has decided to call in the professionals.

"It's so much," she says, looking up at him with huge brown eyes rimmed by tears. "I thought it would be like planning for a mass casualty incident like a subway bombing. It is not like that. Our wedding is going to be so, so much worse than a subway bombing." She cannot even enjoy her show, where Sansa Stark is finally gloating over something glorious and gory. Gorious? If it's not a word it should be.

"With our friends you should have known that it would be, Ames," Jake says. He kisses her on the tip of the nose. "It's gonna be okay, though."

"It's gonna be not okay," she says. "It's gonna be not okay. There's gonna be darkness and terror and running and screaming. And maybe there'll be a dragon. Will there be a dragon?"

"No dragons. I think? We don't have those in Brooklyn. Don't worry," he says again, and squeezes her tight around the shoulders. "I know a guy. And a gal."

*

That's how she ends up seated across from Gina in the break room. Her oftentimes friend and occasional tormentor sits with her long legs crossed under a smart black skirt and the usual feline smile playing on her lips. "So," she says. "Jakey tells me that you've screwed the poodle-doodle on this wedding thing and decided to call in the big guns, Lil' Mama."

"Well I don't think I've done that badly."

"No, no. Don't try to deny it." She shakes her head. Long, reddish locks fall in front of perpetually dancing eyes. "You may be the queen of tricking our captain and Jake into giving you a crown and petting that ridiculously supersized head of yours but... all this wedding stuff has got you confoozled. And that..."

She claps and grins. "That is why you need The Boyle-Linetti Wedding Agency. We provide ceremonies with both Clazz and Pizazz."

Amy furrows her brow. She finds herself doing it a lot. "Clazz and...?"

"Yeah, it's necessary to do it that way for both branding and registered trademark purposes. Charles wasn't into it at first, but I pinched that little sensitive area right at the top of his arm and told Genevieve where it was too and so now he's super on board. So..." She opens a folder. "First things first. Walking down the aisle. I'm going to assume you want your boring dad to do it, right?"

"My dad's not boring, and yes."

"How about we do your boring dad on one side and Captain Holt on the other? He's your rabbi here, after all, and he's been kind of like a second stern, authoritarian, sexy in a gay-but-manly black Frasier way father to you, right?"

"Well," Amy says, "insofar as I can follow that it's not an awful idea."

"I can do you one better," Gina says. "We must each be accompanied by our respective magical patronus. You, first, must ride down the aisle on a snowy white leopard with blue, piercing eyes. This is your spirit animal like mine is the noble wolf. Her bearing is like that of a queen and her ruff is silvery, Amy. Silvery. Captain Holt's is a red elk stag, tall and proud, with antlers that reach the ceiling rafters and stretch from wall to wall. They just, like, fill the room with their presence." 

She waves her hands, begins to really get into the moment. "Rosa, as your maid-of-honor, should have a black Merlin perched on her shoulder... or perhaps an Aplomado falcon in both black and white. I haven't decided yet. It's something fast and vicious, a raptor willing and able to tear you to shreds but also beautiful in its queer, disturbing movements. Almost alien. Jake isn't a wolf like me but must be accompanied by a red, luxurious fox, which is almost as good. Sort of like a wolf but smaller. His spirit cries fox, Amy. You must know this. The word is 'kitsune.'"

"I'm not sure I'd ever considered it but okay." She's still caught off-guard at being assigned something like a leopard in this bizarre Apocalypse of the Animals instead of a sea slug or blue tang. She's always liked cats... although Dory is pretty cute, too. 

Gina ignores her and goes on. It's like being caught in front of a particularly cheerful steamroller. "Charles, his best man, is a vole. I think it should be pretty obvious why. Your dad..." She quirks her cherry red lips. "I don't know. He can walk a dachsund down the aisle beside you or something. Doesn't he have kind of short legs?"

Amy can't help but giggle. "Cool as all that sounds, Gina, it's also insane and sort of like Harry Potter threw up on a zoo." 

"So I guess that's a no?"

"Yeah, for the animals. I really like the idea of Captain Holt walking me down the aisle with my dad, though. We can definitely ask him about that." She smiles, nods, tries to placate the fey, mercurial creature sitting across the table from her.

"All right, all right," she says. "It's your wedding, after all, even if you're marrying my oldest friend." She snorts. "But my idea is still better, though because I am beautiful and a genius and you will respect that."


	2. Music and Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake talks music selection with Rosa and gets a little nervous. Amy discusses food with Charles and learns the true definition of fear.

"So," Jake says. "What are we thinking for the first dance? Something smooth? Latin jazz?"

"Ew," Rosa says. "No. Fuck that shit. Try this." She tosses him an earbud attached to her phone.

He situates it in his ear. When she flicks the screen an aural assault unheard of since probably the Battle of Passchendaele rips through his skull. He snatches the earbud out. "First of all, what the hell was that? And second... yes. Hell. Was that hell? Are we actually in hell right now?"

"That was primo tunes, nerd," she says. "'Woman of Dark Desires' by Bathory. It just doesn't get any better."

He shakes his head. "What kind of world do you live in where that is appropriate for the first dance at a wedding?"

She shrugs. "It's make-out music for me and Adrian."

"Okay, so hell was right. But Ames is the opposite of a woman of dark desires, whatever that means. Got anything a little less, you know... demonic?"

"Try this."

He fits the earbud back in. It starts as a chill, decent country rap groove. It's maybe a little spidery, yeah, but still something he can really get into, something you could really move to without even trying. Then the lyrics start. They are, because they would be so easy to dance to, possibly even more disturbing than the raging noise she had hit him with before. 

Jake tries to smile. "Well, it didn't make my ears bleed. But... er... what was going on there? Do I even want an answer? I really don't, do I?"

"It's a love song," she says. "'Ballad of Worms' by Cage and going to be a total classic. Perfect for a wedding. I mean... his chick's all sick and stuff, but he takes care of her. Until she starts to literally fall apart so they lay in bed together and hold hands and take drugs while she rots. So they're dummies but it's sweet." She frowns. "Well I guess it's equally sweet and gross. Some of that six-half dozen shit."

"It is, like, twelve dozen gross. It's a gross of gross."

"At this rate you're going to end up with Fantastic Jack and the Junkyard Rats, dude. I don't think you want that."

"I don't think anyone has wanted that ever."

"Why did you ask me to help with the music anyway? Gina's the one who knows about popular shit. I'm the weird chick who dresses in black and carries a hatchet."

"You're one of my best friends and you've got good taste."

"Oh." Her fantastic eyes, darker than the devil's heart, drop to where her hands twine on her lap. She has not handled honest compliments well since they met on the first day of class at the NYPD police academy. "Well, you're into classic rock, right? Drive radio stuff?"

"Yeah."

"What's Amy like?"

"She's really into super cheerful indie stuff. Her favorite record is 'Enjoy Your Rabbit.'"

"There you go, then. Just make a mix of that stuff. It's not about the music, dude, it's about the people dancing to it."

"Jeez... you're like Yoda in black leather sometimes. That's the best idea since they decided to combine the magic of Bruce Willis, a tall building and Hans Gruber."

She blushes, honest to God blushes, and can't meet his gaze. If words weren't coming easily a moment ago then they're stifled now but the radiant smile that threatens to break her face says it all. Some moments are just perfect and will last a lifetime.

*

"So basically the important thing about food is that it tells a story," he says, "and we want this food to tell a love story, and the Jake/Amy one might just be the most important love story that has ever been told in this or any other universe." He flashes the patented Charles Boyle boyish grin. "I'm kind of a shipper on board."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to ask about that," she says. "Why are you so into us? I mean, you're in a relationship of your own. Why isn't that the most important relationship in this or any other... whatever?"

"Well," he says, "I've been married. When people pick on me about relationship stuff I think they kind of forget that and I don't like to remind them because, well... you know. It didn't work out. In the biggest possible way. And then I fell in love with my partner. She was really cool about it, and we have definitely been the kind of friends who make each other better people, but I'm a smart enough guy to know that Rosa and I really weren't ever going to be compatible. Vivian and I fell hard for each other, we both went full Boyle as Jake likes to say, but we were full Boyle for our careers long before we were for each other."

He sighs, takes a sip of his fermented goat milk and goes on. "Now Genevieve and I are together, and we're both that kind of person and it looks like I'm going to go full Boyle again. I don't know if it's going to work out, though, or if I'm going to end up hurt again. With you two, though? You're just perfect. You're going to be together forever. And besides... Jake's my best friend, literally the most important person in my life apart from my dad. I just want him to be happy and I'll do anything I can to make it happen. Food tells a story, Amy, and I want it to tell a great one for you two."

She smiles. Charles is a really weird little man, there's no denying that, but he's also one of the sweetest people in the world. Her guy could not have a better best friend. She resists the urge to hug him; the smell of fermented goat milk is strong, her stomach is uneasy and she does not think that the moment would be improved by upchucking on his shirt. She asks, instead. "So... what kind of story do you think we ought to tell at our wedding?"

The answer, unfortunately, falls inside the horror genre. "We ought to try a riff on the traditional poultry dinner with balut--that's soft boiled duck fetus--followed up with a course of seven organ soup. For an appetizer, maybe, we can get some sannakji or milt, that's live octopus or fish semen to represent the living nature of your love and how it's a seed that will always grow, and follow with hasma for desert. That's the fallopian tubes of frogs fermented and sweetened to serve as a sort of playful counterpoint to the milt." He sighs. "Such poetry."

Amy turns a little green. Vomiting could still very well be in the cards. "Jeez... with all that why don't we just get some of that Sardinian maggot cheese?"

"Casu Marzu? Would that we could, Amy, would that we could. It's contraband, though. Genevieve and I want to try some on our wedding night." He shivers. "I hear it's better than sex."

She doesn't know quite where to take that, so she says instead, "Okay, so how about instead of... that stuff... which we'll save for the Boyle-Mirren-Carter wedding, we do something like a Peking duck for the main course?"

"Peking duck?" He shakes his head sadly. "Amy, Amy, Amy..."

Well, at least it's a good song. "Well... I like Peking duck."

"Yeah, but it's so boring." His eyes light up. "I know! How about Peking duck confit? That would be divine."

"Totally," she says. "And not horrifying."

"And since we're going with that we can do sweet bean buns and pickled radish for the dessert dishes!" He seizes her shoulders, presses a quick kiss to either cheek. "Amy, you're a genius! You're like a regular Hélène Darroze!"

She's a little startled by the spontaneous show of affection, but that's okay. He's Charles and... sometimes he just does things like that. They've all decided that it's part of his charm like Terry's obsessive love of yogurt, Captain Holt's fondness for referencing Danish flautists and Rosa's customized Kull of Atlantis battle axe. It is inscribed along the handle with "By This Axe I Rule" in Hyborean runes and is, according to her at least, a way better backup weapon than some silly ankle piece.

He squeals and waves his hands. "This is going to be the best wedding ever," he says, "for the best people ever and have the best food ever. That's a Charles Boyle promise and that means it's going to get kept."

She believes him. Partially because he's their precinct's grinder. Charles may not have Jake's naturally agile mind, so adept at thinking around corners, or Terry's intimidating physical presence but the man has one of the highest solve rates not only at the 99 but in all of Brooklyn South. If he wants something bad enough, believes in it and works for it hard enough, it might just happen. It's the kind of faith that can move mountains and, in Amy's opinion, well worth having in your corner... even if you have to put up with some seriously creepy ass dining on occasion to get to it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry works hard to find a venue for the wedding. Hitchcock finds the best cake in history. Scully finds a balloon but loses it.

"It's all a matter of if you're looking for a simple ceremony or something a little fancier," Terry says. He offers the Jeffords grin that has set many a witness at ease and thrown even more suspects off their game. "Terry loves love, you know, almost as much as he does yogurt. I can hook you up with the perfect place for these nuptials."

"Well," Jake says, "we're kind of simple folks. Most of our dates just involve kind of lounging around in our pajamas and watching Netflix or videos of people making food way too complicated for us to try on Youtube. So I guess a simple ceremony?"

"All right," he says, "all right." He taps a few words into his keyboard. "I think you're gonna like this a lot. Crow Hill CrossFit Gym has the right atmosphere and attitude, really low key. Good folks there, too." His grin broadens. "If you're lucky Coach Mohammed might even sing 'Ribbon in the Sky.' That dude has got a voice that would make the angels weep, Jake."

Jake blinks, not sure if his enormous friend is kidding or the muscles have actually invaded his brain, and says. "We'll short list that one, then. Sounds super! But, er... y'know, it's our special day. Only one wedding, right?"

"Fifty percent of the population says no," Terry says, "but like I said, I'm a romantic. Statistics don't know romance. If you're doing it right you're only gonna do it once."

"My thoughts exactly. So maybe a little less casual than Crow Hill CrossFit. For Amy's sake if nothing else. You know how she likes frills and lace and..." He shops around for the word. "Girly-whigs. She's looking for this super pimped out dress and would probably be kind of offended if I just got married in black board shorts and a pair of vibrams."

"That is the dress code," he says. "But I got you. Okay, okay." He types again, face a picture of concentration, and then says, "If you're looking to go a little fancy we could try to get a day pass at La Palestra. Membership runs a cool nine thousand per year but--"

Jake lies in the valley between befuddled and bemused. "There are things that aren't houses and cars that cost nine thousand dollars? El oh el, whaaaat?"

Terry is going too strong to be stopped. It's like he just broke into the backfield among the FDNY's less than stellar linebackers and safeties. "Yes, Jake, there are things apart from..." He rolls his eyes. "Not gonna start this today, just don't feel like it. Suffice to say this place would be a fancy pants place for a wedding, kind of like if Frasier was marrying Dame Diana Rigg. It is, if I say so myself, the swankest gym in New York."

"Gym?"

"Yes gym," he says. "It's in Manhattan, right off 67th by Central Park. It's where the big boys work out, little Jakey."

"Oh." He snorts. "I thought it was, like, a casino or something."

"Only a fool would spend that much money on gambling," Terry says. "But taking care of your health? Aint no price tag, man."

"There is here. And it says--" He mimics a bullhorn and affects his Michael Buffer at Madison Square Garden voice. "Nine! Thousand! Dollars!"

"All right, all right." Terry raises his hands, seems to admit defeat. "If you wanna go and get married in a 24 Hour Fitness or Blink or a Planet Fitness that's on you, man. It's your special day and it's gonna be you who has to explain it to Mrs. Amy Peralta that you chose that when it could have been so much more."

"Hey, and here's a really crazy idea, like, super insane," Jake says, "but what if we maybe get married in a place that isn't a gym?"

Terry's brow furrows. "I don't know about that, man. Terry knows gyms. Terry likes gyms."

"But wouldn't a church or a synagogue or something be a little more, oh, I don't know... traditional?"

"Yeah, I guess so." He laughs. "I haven't really thought about it. You got any ideas?"

"Well, where did you and Sharon get married?"

"Bridge Street AME," he says. "It's where her family's been going to church for, like, two hundred years or something."

"Now that's sweet," Jake says.

"Hey!" Terry snaps his fingers. "I've got an idea, man. Does Amy still go to Holy Child Jesus on 86th?"

"Her parents do. She can't make it every Sunday but she does make it for..." He frowns. "What do they call their festivals? High holy days or something?"

"Days of Holy Obligation," he says, "which you'd know if you'd taken my class on religious diversity and sensitivity."

"But I'd also have not sat at home and watched the entire Real Ghostbusters on DVD," he says.

"It was a good class!"

He shrugs. "It was a good show."

Terry presses on. It seems like the safer choice. "Well, I'd suggest that you two get married there if I can't sell you on the whole gym thing. Now... I'm pretty sure you don't make it out to Beth Elohim much anymore--"

Jake cuts him off. "I think if I went into a synagogue these days that the Lord might literally strike me dead."

"Probably," Terry says. "But still... weren't you and your grandma close to the rabbi there?"

"Yeah," he says. "Nana loved Reb Andy. I didn't mind him at Hebrew School, either. He was a pretty cool guy."

"Well there's your answer, then," Terry says. "Get ahold of Reb Andy and ask if he's willing to perform the ceremony for you two at Holy Child Jesus. I mean... look at it this way, Jake. You guys are making one life out of two. You're gonna be one flesh, since we're getting all biblical with it up in here... and that's both metaphorically and literally as soon as little Jake Jr. or Amy Jr. or... ahem..." He grins. "As soon as maybe little Terry pops out? So there'll be, you know, Big Terry and Little Terry? That can be a good name for a boy or a girl, you know."

It takes a moment for the words to sink deep enough. "You know... that is true."

"What, that Terry is a good name? Should've known that your whole life, son."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "I know it... but the other thing, too. About how we can symbolize becoming one by uniting something as important to Amy as her family's church and to me as the rabbi that my Nana loved so much. I mean, he was part of our shiva minyan when she passed and read a psalm of comfort at her funeral and everything. It's... a great idea, sarge."

"Damn straight," Terry says. "Although I would seriously still recommend at least thinking about doing your reception at Bushwick CrossFit. That way you can get your ceremony, strength and metcon in all on the same day at the same place."

Jake laughs. It's kind of like good advice, at least, and comes from a big man's even bigger heart.

*

He's leaning against Scully and offering her the weird, Jack o'Lantern grin that has discomfitted suspects since the late seventies. "Have no fear," he says, "because Hitchcock and Scully are here. Your wedding is saved!"

She frowns. "I didn't know it needed saving but thanks anyway. What did you guys do?"

"Well, since everybody else was running all over the place and doing whatever it is they were doing, we decided to ask ourselves, 'What are the awesomest things that these kids will forget?' It seemed obvious to me." Hitchcock laid his finger against his nose. "Rosa had music, Charles had food and Terry was picking out what gym he thought you ought to get married in but, geez, nobody was thinking about the cake and balloons!"

"You are right, Hitchcock... amazingly. We didn't have anyone on the cake. And Scully... well, balloons aren't necessarily traditional, but we did need decorations of some kind. So..." She smiles. "What did you two guys come up with?"

"I'll let my partner Norm go first," Hitchcock says. His smug smile suggests that he has it all under control, and the box behind him from George's 23 Hour Bakery ('We stop for lunch every day,' their signs blare in bright red type on yellow, 'what do you think this is communist Zaire?') pairs with it to make Amy more than a little bit nervous. It's the same sort of feeling that she has had after knocking on a door the instant before a twelve gauge shotgun blast has answered.

"Well," Scully says, "I went and I got you a balloon." He nods. "Yep. That's what I did."

Amy furrows her brow. "Thanks, Scully. I think. Just the one balloon?"

"Yep," he says. "Yep. I worked hard for that balloon. Do you wanna hear the story?"

She doesn't really, but Scully is a really nice old guy and doesn't get enough attention from his wife, daughter or even dog--one of the three is named Kelly, Amy is almost sure, and all three ignore him. So she goes out on a limb, smiles and says, "Sure, Scully. Tell me how you got the balloon."

"Well, I went to that guy who sells balloons and ice creams--you know the one, right? He hangs out by Owl Head Park and dresses like a clown and sometimes he preaches from the book of Malachi and scares all the kids even though Officer Royce has told him to tone it down a little bit?"

Amy works hard to process the rambling line of logic. She can't really place the guy but... with all the weirdos in Brooklyn who could? At least he sounds mostly harmless, although she knows damn well that a nut in a costume with an axe to grind around that many kids could go pear shaped in an instant. She says, "Yeah, Scully, I know the one."

"Oh, okay, good. I thought I might have to explain again. Well, anyway I went to get a balloon from him for your wedding, or a few maybe, and a popsicle for me. I really like the orange ones. So I bought them but some mean kids threw rocks and batteries at me and chased and I tripped over a squirrel and a pigeon ate my popsicle." He brightens. "I didn't have enough change for another ones but Mr. Tinker Tickle gave me another one and my money back since Officer Jackson helped him with a mugging a few years ago. Said he owed it to the boys in blue."

"I'm glad he did," Amy says, "and I'm really sorry about those kids. But, er... what about the balloons? I think you kind of forgot to tell me that part and I don't see any so..."

"Oh! Yeah." He offers the sheepish smile that might have been a real charmer in the late seventies. "Here you go." He slips something out of his pocket that looks like a condom that's had a cherry bomb in it. "Here's your balloon. It's a really nice one. Well, it was."

She can't help but smile. Weddings and balloons don't really go together anyway, after all. "Thanks. I'm sure it was a really nice one but... can I ask why you didn't get another?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and slaps his palm to his eyes. "Shoot! I knew I forgot something!" A shrug follows it. "Oh, well. I guess the important thing is that I got a free popsicle is the important thing, right?"

"Totally."

"Lemme tell you right now. While Scully was out getting his popsicle ol' Mikey was doing a real solid for you, kid." He winks. It sort of reminds her of a spontaneous evisceration she'd been the first responder to as a rookie. "It's the kind of thing that a guy like me does for a girl like you--one who's just like him thirty years ago. I know I'm your rabbi and everything, after all."

"My rabbi?" Her voice goes up three octaves from the mezzo soprano she sang at in the choir as a teenager. "Captain Holt's my rabbi!"

"Pretty sure he's Rosa's," Hitchcock says. "But don't you worry. You got the better end of the deal."

"How? Seriously, how?"

"Because it was me who got you this boss ass cake," he says. "Ta-da." With great ceremony he opens the lid of the box from George's 23 Hour Bakery.

Amy's heart falls into her stomach and keeps on dropping until it hits the souls of her shoes and bounces. This is it. This is the ape attack that the sergeant's exam handbook had been warning about!

She plays it cool. "It's... nice, Hitchcock. Thanks."

In spite of her fervent prayers, this encourages him. "Really? You're welcome. Wanna know why I picked this one out?"

She has to, from pure morbid curiosity if nothing else. "Sure."

"Well," he says, "you're Cuban right?" When she nods, he goes on. "Cubans, as we all know, are from Florida. I figure you'll take Jakey on your honeymoon down there so I thought the coolest thing in literally the world would be to get you a cake in the shape of Florida so that you'd be thinking about it. I was thinking about what Charles said, you know, how food can tell a story?" He chuckles. "I'm such a genius."

"It's a really nice gesture," Amy says. "It really is. But there's only one problem. Well, there's three problems."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she says. "First of all, not all Cubans come from Florida. I've never been there in my life. Second, Jake and I are going to take our honeymoon in Charleston."

"That's where I took mine," Scully says. "It's super romantic. I mostly ate lots of barbecue with really good mustard sauce and my wife hung out with a CCSO deputy. His name was Derek, I think. Really nice guy."

She pats his shoulder. "Good point, Scully. But yeah, we're going to be in South Carolina touring historical homes because little Amy always loved historical homes."

Hitchcock shrugs. "Well, at least South Carolina is close to Florida."

"Not really!"

"It's Florida adjacent."

"Dude," she says. "Georgia is between them. A whole state. It's literalyl why the English founded the colony of Savannah--to be between South Carolina and Florida."

"Maybe, maybe not."

She doesn't have time to pull out a map right now--which amazes her because Amy is usually super into correcting geographical mistakes. Must be one of those weird pregnancy things. She says, "And even if I was from Florida, and even if we were going there on our honeymoon, there's one final problem with the cake."

"What's that?"

"It's not even Florida!"

"Yeah, right," he says. Hitchcock scoffs at her. Actually scoffs! "If that's not Florida, Miss Smarty Britches, then what is it."

She glares. "Take a super close look, Rabbi." God she needs her e-cig... it's been months since she could vape and sometimes it was the only way she managed to cope with these boobs.

He does. Realization finally dawns. "Oh. I... think I see now. So I guess we won't we taking this to the church as your wedding cake, huh?"

"Great guess," she says. Amy finally manages to relax. Ape attack has been averted for another day. She knows it will come again, though. It's a chapter in the sergeant's exam handbook, after all, and the response plan has been known as "the Hitchcock Protocol" for more than twenty-five years. This is why constant vigilance must be a part of an NYPD officer's watch just as much as the famous three letters courtesy, professionalism and respect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake and Amy compare notes. They determine that their friends are insane, but at least they're the sweet kind of crazy.

"Our friends are total mutants," she says. "It's just like we thought it would be."

"Oh? How so? Are they pillaging the Capitol Wasteland?" He wraps an arm around her. They're resting in a bed piled with pillows after watching half a season of Adam-12 on Netflix. Jake has loved it since watching re-runs as a little boy, Amy likes to pretend it's good preparation for the sergeant's exam. Hell, it might really be.

She purses her lips and offers him a chocolate gaze that seems both wise, world-weary and severely cute. The enormous glasses that she wears to study in bed don't make it any less so. "This is their vision: Our wedding party will, somehow, be accompanied by our magical patroni. The music will be terrifying, only slightly less so than the food, and it'll happen in a room that smells like WD-40, sweat and rubber bumper plates."

"Yeah, but Coach Mohammed is a super great singer. Or so I hear. It's not like I took Terry seriously for a mintue and went to hear him or anything."

"Of course not," she says. She cannot resist smiling, at least a little. "Shall I go on?"

"Sure."

"Okay. Then beyond what I said, our decorations consist of one balloon--that Scully fell on and popped five minutes after we talked anyway--and a penis cake that Hitchcock thinks is Florida, which is where he thinks all Cubans come from."

"Definitely not all Cubans," Jake says. "There's way too many Jews who remember going to Hebrew School with Moses for every Cuban to fit."

She laughs at this. He lays a finger beside her nose. "I think you're forgetting something important, though."

"Yeah?"

"Well, they just wanted the best for us because they love us. And their idea of the best is slightly insane."

"Slightly?"

"Okay, totally demented. But when we reigned them in just a little, just the teeniest bit, some really magical stuff happened. Rosa's playlist was inspired, you're going to light up like Christmas with your dad on one side and Captain Holt on the other, I can't wait--and I can't believe I'm saying this--to dig into Charles' menu and having Reb Andy marry us at your family's church is just totally brilliant."

"What about Hitchcock and Scully?"

He shrugs. "They're Hitchcock and Scully? One of them has had more heart attacks than he has brain cells and the other has the NYPD protocol for ape attack named after him. Still... I do like orange balloons, and I bet the penis cake was super tasty."

"That's what she said." Amy giggles. 

"Totally mature." He scruffs her hair a little with his hand. "I think I'm rubbing off on you and I am both proud and, for some reason, super aroused."

"That's exactly what a girlfriend should make you, isn't it?"

"Fiancee."

She smiles, suffused by a warm glow. "Fiancee. And wife soon."

"Wife soon with a penis cake. And mother to little..." The smile melts into a frown. "What are we naming him? Her? It?"

"Not gonna be an it unless Hitchcock's genetic material snuck in there somehow," Jake says. "But Terry says we ought to name our kid Terry--good for a boy or girl."

"I'm surprised he didn't suggest Neil Degrasse Tyson or Deadlift or Crossfit or something."

I'm surprised he didn't suggest Yogurt." They lounge in companionable silence for a while, the easy lack of chatter that can be born only out of deep friendship or the truest love. They'll have the rest of their lives to talk, and a new life with them besides. Moments of silence are golden in the Borough of Homes and Churches, though, so they decide to enjoy this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My longest B99 story and she's done! I've written long pieces before (for Dragon Age, up to novel length) but this has left me really satisfied.


End file.
